


i get lost in the way you move

by goreallegore



Series: lets learn to love [1]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 09:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8200901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goreallegore/pseuds/goreallegore
Summary: Strange, how he’s always been averse to cliches, thinking there is little to no truth to them, and yet in every sense of the concept he feels weak in the knees. The thing is this is too much. Too much of Yugyeom’s scent - boy mixed with a slight dab of his cologne; it’s his favorite, loves that their room smells like it year round. Or; Yugyeom wins Hit The Stage, and Bambam? Well, he's just a little too in love with Yugyeom.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hello, readers !!! i am breaking into the kpop fandom with this little drabble. please be kind. i am terribly in love with these boys, and plenty more so here is me sharing a little bit of my love through theirs. anyway buy flight log: turbulence on iTunes :') oh and all these prompts will be based on shawn mendes' new album. 
> 
> title from 'lights on' by shawn mendes

 

Bambam messes about with the plates again, checking to make sure they’re set right, when he hears the whistling coming from the stove. He hurries to it, taking off the lid, and grabbing a fork from the cutlery set to his side. He dips it into the water and twists a string of spaghetti on it bringing it up and waiting for it to cool down a bit. Once it does he pokes at it making sure it's boiled and not raw in the wrong parts. Thankfully, it isn't. 

 

He strains the water out and transfers over the noodles into the deep saute pan, and then tosses in the stir fried veggies and chicken, along with the sauce he’d made beforehand. He lets the noodles simmer for a bit, turning down the heat, and goes to the fridge when he hears footsteps rambling in, “Don’t even think about.”

 

“How’d you even know?” Jackson whines, coming to stand right in front of the stove. From over his shoulder Bam sees him peering into the pan, sniffing the food, “Because you always want to poke around when I’m cooking.”

 

There is a pitcher of fresh orange juice that the housekeeper had filled earlier so he grabs it, along with the chilled bottle of soju, and swivels to face the dining table. It’s not much, having only four seats, which is ridiculous seeing as seven of them live in the dorm, but they get by. The napkin next to the plate he set next to his is slightly tilted so he goes to fix it, Jackson trotting over next to him, “You’re going all out.”

 

“He got first place,” Bambam replies, matter-of-factly.

 

“I know we all watched it together, bud,” he presses his knuckles into Bam’s shoulders and it’s weird because he didn’t even realize how stressed he felt. 

 

The cloud of steam sputtering out of the pan on the stove alerts him, he rounds the table to quickly turn off the fire, and turns to face Jackson, hands on his hips, “Don’t you have anything better to do? Go bug, Mark hyung.”   
  


Jackson pouts, doesn’t get to put up a fight because they hear the front door creak open. 

 

“He’s here,” Bambam whispers, and this is insane because it’s just Yugyeom. His best friend, his roommate, his bandmate. They’ve done this before, had dinner and gotten buzzed over the cheap soju Mark sneaks in for them when Jaebum isn’t around or turning a blind eye. There is something different about this though especially the way his throat is running dry, and his hands clammy. 

Unsurprisingly, Jackson is by his side again, this time clutching onto his shoulder and saying, a little above a whisper, “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

 

Then he’s walking out of the kitchen, not forgetting to take one of those bite-sized oreo packets, and right before he leaves, he says, “Oh, by the way, Jinyoung went home so did Jaebum and Youngjae. Mark and I are going to Nickhun’s, yeah?”

 

Bambam thinks he nodded, but he can’t be sure. There’s this droning in his ears, loud and booming, and he’s finding it a little hard to concentrate. So, instead he busies himself with preparing dinner, going to take out the glass deep-dish from the cabinet. He sets it on the counter and carefully fills it with the brothy noodles, the steaming veggies colorful against the starchy off-white of the spaghetti. Grinning, he mentally pats himself on the back, not even realizing the presence behind him until he feels arms snake around him and a finger dip into the sauce. 

 

“ _ Ooo _ ,” Yugyeom coos, his breath hot on his neck, “This looks delicious.”

 

Strange, how he’s always been averse to cliches, thinking there is little to no truth to them, and yet in every sense of the concept he feels weak in the knees. The thing is this is too much. Too much of Yugyeom’s scent - boy mixed with a slight dab of his cologne; it’s his favorite, loves that their room smells like it year round. The hint of sweetness makes his insides churn, and his tongue is heavy again, the press of Yugyeom’s chest to his back completely innocent, but. 

 

“You’re home,” he manages, and he can smell the faint whiff of sweat. It’s enough to send his heart reeling;  _ oh _ , that’s what the sound in his ears is. It’s his heart beating. 

 

“Mhm,” Yugyeom says, pulling back and putting distance between them again. There’s enough room to breath though Bam thinks no amount of space will be enough when Yugyeom is in the same room as him. He’ll always be breathless. 

 

With his head ducked he brings the dish to the table and sets it closer to the only two chairs with plates set in front of them. Suddenly, he’s hyper-aware of everything.  Albeit being the self-proclaimed best cook in the band he does think he has his off days, and if that happens to be today then he might as well squash the dreams of opening that little restaurant he wanted in the future. 

 

Bambam can hear the nervous tapping of Yugyeom’s fingers on the counter he’s leaning against, and the singing of the refrigerator is louder in the quiet. There is a plan laid out in front of him if he closes his eyes, of him stepping to the side and pulling out the chair for Yugyeom to sit in, to serve him food and take a seat beside him. He’d ask him about his day, they’d talk about the new k-drama his mum started, and then segue into the new song Bambam heard over the store speakers when he was at the grocers getting supplies for dinner earlier. Everything is a little fuzzy now, though. 

 

“Where’s everyone else?” Yugyeom’s voice notch lighter. Feather-like. 

 

“Out, or home,” he replies, truthfully. He grips onto the frame of the chair digging his nails into the surface, it rocks under the pressure churning out a squeaky sound, and he swallows his nervousness, “I made you dinner. To, like, I thought it’d be nice.”

 

“For the stage?” 

 

“Yeah,” he says. Yugyeom ambles over to him pulling out the other chair and folds his arms over the table, glancing up with eyes so bright that Bambam feels another vine wraps around his heart. Squeezing. 

 

“Should we eat?”

 

When they’re settled each of them with enough food on their plates to fill them up, Bambam thinks, he’s not that hungry anymore. Instead, his eyes dart over to Yugyeom’s hand that is holding a fork, thin long fingers with shortly cut nails. Then he’s trailing up to see the way his jaw gives way to his chin, long gone the swell of his cheeks from their debut days, now replaced with a sharp jawline. He doesn’t know if he misses what’s gone, but there is an itch at the tip of his fingers - tingling, telling of how much he’d like to touch him. 

 

Like all things his lack of discretion leaves him open to be caught, Yugyeom glancing up with a raised eyebrow, small beads of sweat still lining his hairline, “What? Do I have something on my face?”

  
  


_Yeah,_ _it’s all of it_. Though sputtering that out might not exactly work in his favor then again since when did he started caring what does and what doesn’t? There is an indent in the wooden table they are seated around, a jagged scar that dips into a lighter shade of chestnut, and Bambam digs his forefinger into it. Well, aware he might get a splinter, eyes locked down, he keeps pressing in. Yugyeom drops his fork and brings his left hand to stop Bambam’s, ghosting over the back of his hand with his palm, and asking, “Everything okay, Bammie?”

 

The nickname swells his heart, inching closer to the table, his chest colliding with the edge, he replies, “Sometimes you look really.” He pauses, collecting his words, and it’s Yugyeom who looks pensive. Attentive. That’s the best part about him, Bambam reckons, how he always listens to him so intently like bambam has a whole world to say. He doesn’t, but he makes him feel like he does, and just like that it’s easier to say, to admit to himself and his surroundings, and most of all to  _ him _ . 

 

“You’re beautiful,” the air feels punched, not because it’s some big declaration. Yugyeom hears that everyday, fans never missing a chance to let him know, but it’s more that Bambam thinks that. More that he’s somehow always  _ known _ that. 

 

Yugyeom blinks, surprised. A rush of color spreads through his cheeks and he picks up his fork, toying with the spaghetti on his plate, “Urm, thank you.”

 

Bambam brings a hand to his forearm, squeezing and then leaning out of his chair a little, his face closer to Yugyeom. He can perfectly see the freckle below his left eye, and it’s wholly endearing, the way it sits there ever-present not a blemish but a part of him. Something spikes in his chest, and it is only when he hears the clatter of Yug’s fork against the ceramic plate, that he realizes his heart is racing to pounce out of his chest again. Silly little thing it is

 

The flutter of his eyelashes cast a soft shadow, the skin trickled with color, the rosy kind, and he’s smiling now. Like he knows Bambam is going to bring his other hand to trace his jaw, like he knows that his cheeks that shy away from dimples - that are just creases set to show how brightly he can smile - are Bambam’s favorite. 

 

“You’re waiting too long,” Yugyeom’s voice is sweet, not the oversaturated kind that makes you feel sticky and gross after like the ices they get from the small store at the first turn from the dorm, instead it’s like honey. Smooth, and  _ lovely _ . 

 

He wants to say  _ it’s not my fault you make my heart stutter _ but he lets it go to arch forward, and press his mouth to Yugyeoms’. Yugyeom closes his eyes so Bambam follows suit. Their movements match in a way that it’s slow, the way their lips press against one another, after a shrill screech he feels arms around his waist. Breaking apart only so he can come to settle in Yugyeom’s lap now that he’s pulled his chair back. 

 

Thin fingers press into the skin at his waist, the part where his shirt rides up just a smidge because he likes wearing shirt’s a size just right, unlike Mark or Jackson who opt for looser style of clothing. Unwinding his arms around Yugyeom’s neck he glimpses down to catch the crinkle of Yugyeom’s face, creases and wrinkles everywhere making him look a tad sweeter than he already is, and his chest twists into a knot. So, gently, ever-so cautiously, he presses his lips to Yugyeom’s again. His own hands coming to rest at his chest, albeit shaky the thrum of Yugyeom’s heartbeat under his touch sends a sense of relief through him. It isn’t like  _ I want this _ anymore; he knows they both do. 

 

The taste on his tongue is of honeydew, the way the saccharine syrup rolls down your tongue when you bite into it, that’s what Yugyeom tastes like. Bambam thinks he’s never tasted anything better, doesn’t know how he’s meant to stop now that he has. And the underlying softness, the way Yugyeom coaxes his tongue in, permissive yet bold, makes his toes curls in his cotton socks. With bated breaths they pull apart, Bambam pressing their foreheads together, and drumming his fingers along the span of Yugyeom’s shoulders. Yugyeom is still rubbing at the skin on his waist; his thumb on his skin sending a jolt of electricity through him. 

 

They stay there taking in the past few minutes, the aroma of the spices filling the surroundings, evening out their breathing. Yugyeom shakes, body convulsing with the beginning of laughter, “I’m  _ so _ happy.”

 

Bambam pulls back just enough to drop a kiss to his eyebrows, then his nose, and then the bow of his upper lip, and says into Yugyeom’s mouth - one that’s slick red, and wet. The words getting swallowed by another kiss.

 

“Me too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on writersrightwrite.tumblr.com abt got7 or ur fav kpop band !!! // please leave kudos, comments and all that jazz !!


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